


Coffee & Compliments

by aceofsparrows



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), Green Gables Fables
Genre: (canon-wise), F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Some weird mix of book & movie & ggf & awae??, and Ruby, and mary, anne has missed Important Things, gilbert has angst, it's a mess, just trust me, marilla is dead (sorry), so is matthew, sobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/pseuds/aceofsparrows
Summary: Fresh from her Canadian book tour, Anne Shirley has moved back to her childhood home of Green Gables to settle her adoptive family's accounts and teach at the primary school while she searches for inspiration for her next book. When the past starts to creep into the present, Anne must choose: face those she left behind, or leave them for good.* * *"I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now." -- Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"
Relationships: Diana Barry/Fred Wright, Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard (past), Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Christine Stuart (past), Moody Spurgeon MacPherson/Josie Pye, Royal "Roy" Gardner/Cole Mackenzie
Comments: 32
Kudos: 100





	1. Light Behind the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be comforted, dear soul. There is always light behind the clouds." -- Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"
> 
> * * * 
> 
> Anne returns to Avonlea following the death of her adopted mother, Marilla. Facing the changes since she left six years ago and a new teaching position at Avonlea Primary School, the drama is only just beginning for our favorite redhead.

The cherry tree is blooming. It’s the first thing she notices as she steps off the bus at the station and she has a moment of heart-stopping deja vu when she does.

The cherry tree is blooming, and here she is again where it all began.

 _God_ , is it good to be home.

There’s a small, bright red car parked in the tiny lot by the station, and she smiles when she sees the man waiting nearby, large sunhat shielding his eyes from the late spring sun.

“Bash!” She calls, and he turns, smiling when he finally finds her among the crowd. They’re both a little older and grayer, but Sebastian LaCroix will always be like a brother to her.

“Anne Shirley, is it good to see you!” He grins, arms outstretched, and Anne takes his hug graciously. The taller man smells of homemade soap and sweet apples and fresh air and Anne drinks it in, relishing how familiar the moment it.

 _God_ , is it good to be home.

“I read your book, you know,” he says as they get into the car, Anne’s near-bursting carry-on stored in the backseat. “It was good. Definitely deserved all the praise it’s gotten. I’m proud of you, Anne– all of Avonlea is.”

Anne laughs, watching the budding green countryside flicker by the window. “You’re so kind, Sebastian. It’s only my second, and I hope and intend to write many better ones in my career.”

“And Delly and I will read them all,” Bash smiles, glancing quickly at Anne as he drives.

There are several moments of silence before Bash speaks again. “It’s real sad about Marilla, Anne, and I’m so sorry you weren’t here for the end.” There’s a gravity to his words, and they both know the other is thinking of Matthew almost eight years ago, and Mary two years before him. So many radiant people, lost to the cruel hands of fate. But then Bash brightens.

“Jerry said he’ll be waitin’ for us at Green Gables when we get there, and Delly said she’d head over after the Gazette meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh, wonderful! She must be getting more grown up every year, I bet.” Anne smiles, remembering the last time she saw Bash’s daughter. Delphine LaCroix has always looked like her mother, and Anne wonders if at almost eleven Delly is finally growing into a young woman reminiscent of the beautiful woman with whom she shares her middle name.

At last they turn a corner and Anne is met with a spectacular view of the glittering Lake of Shining Waters, and she has to remind herself to breathe as she remembers the first time she drove this road past the Barrys’ pond as little more than a child, her arm bruised from pinching in disbelief.

Anne wipes a stray tear from her eye and rolls down the window, letting her fingers trail in the warm, sweet wind just as they did that first say so long ago.

 _God_ , _it is good to be home._

* * * 

“It’s just ‘ow she left it,” Jerry says, glancing at Anne over his shoulder as he unlocks the back door.

“Thank you, Jerry,” Anne smiles, stepping inside the dimly lit house. It’s odd, coming back here to everything so quiet and still. The house was always so full of light and life, Marilla always baking or sewing something.

Even though it’s barely been a week since Marilla’s passing the dust has settled thick over everything Anne passes. The sink and its faucets, the dining room table, the banister of the staircase. Anne takes it all in with a numb, fascinated silence, gliding through the house like she’s in a dream.

She’s just gotten to the foot of the staircase when there’s a creak behind her.

“Aunt Anne?”

Anne turns, a smile forming on her face when she sees the girl standing on the threshold.

“Delphine! How good to see you.”

Delly smiles, eyes sparkling. “I’ve missed you, Auntie.”

Anne opens her arms and Delly runs to her embrace, both of them grateful for the familiar touch.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Dad said you had a good trip here,” Delly says as they pull apart, and Anne nods.

“Yes, the bus ride was at least marginally enjoyable. There is certainly much more scope for the imagination out here in the countryside than in Toronto or Vancouver…” A dried twist of flowers catches her eye where it hangs in the pantry across the room, baby’s breath and daisies crisp and perfect. Anne frowns, striding quickly to look at them more closely and Delly follows at her heel, curious.

“These flowers… these are from the bouquet I sent Marilla almost six months ago… She- she kept them here, just like I used to keep Gil’s bouquets when I was younger…” Shaking her head at a sudden thought, Anne turns to Delly. “How– Where is Gilbert, anyway, Delphine? Does he still live in Carmody?”

Delly bites her lip, eyes dodging Anne’s own. “No. Uncle Gilby moved back here after Doctor Branch retired four years ago.”

Anne blinks, her breath catching. “Oh.” She hadn’t been planning to see Gilbert Blythe, at least not soon anyway. The last time they saw each other…

“Delly, darling, we should get to goin’ home!” Bash calls from the yard, and Delly smiles apologetically at Anne.

“Sorry… I’ll see you soon, right?”

Anne smiles thinly. “Soon.” She watches the young girl go, skipping off across the yard to her waiting father and his little red car, and when she’s safely out of sight Anne turns, wandering back into the dining room and climbing the creaking staircase up to the second floor.

Her gable room is exactly how she left it, ridiculous lace coverlet and all. The window is open a quarter of the way, and as the sun sets Anne fingers the buds of the beautiful Snow Queen’s apple blossom flowers, an almost suffocating melancholy settling on her chest and shoulders.

In the silent darkness of the evening, one all-encompassing thought fills her mind and brings proper tears to her eyes for the first time since she heard the news about Marilla…

**_What, in God’s name, do I do now?_ **

* * * 

“My goodness, is that Anne Shirley?”

It’s early morning, and Anne is at the general store in town to pick up a few things before the beginning of the week. She had been the only one in the shop until the bell above the door rang and someone came in. Someone, it seems, who is very surprised to see her.

Anne turns and finds herself face to face with Josie Pye, of all people.

“Oh, Josie, hello.” Anne blinks. The woman before her is most certainly Josie Pye– her blonde ringlets, pointed face, and preference for lavender clothing are defining– but she seems also entirely a different person.

Especially because she has two young children clinging to her hands.

“Anne, how good it is to see you. I’m so very sorry about Marilla… I didn’t know you were back in Avonlea; I didn’t see you at the service.”

“Oh, I only just got home yesterday; I had to finish my book tour as per my contract and couldn’t come any earlier, unfortunately.” Anne frowns. How much has she missed in six years?

“Oh, yes, your book! The girls and I read _Kindred Spirits_ together, didn’t we, girls?” Josie tugged in the hands of the young girls by her side, both of whom looked up at their mother with wide eyes. “Girls, this is Anne Shirley, the author of that book about the little schoolhouse and the girls who get into all those scrapes that you like so much. I went to school with her when I was younger.” She smiles at Anne, who manages to smile back amidst her bewilderment.

“Helen and Alice just love your book, Anne. It’s so charming!”

“Oh, well, thank you Josie. I, um, I’d better be going, but it was very nice to talk to you and to meet your– your daughters!” Anne gives a little wave, gathering her packages off the counter and hurrying around Josie.

“Goodbye, Anne! I’ll see you around!”

Anne shakes her head when she’s safely out of sight on the path towards Green Gables. What an odd day it is already turning out to be…

##  *** * ***

“It was so odd, Diana, to see her like that. I don’t think she’s been that nice to me since Queen’s days.” Anne sighs, her phone balanced between her ear and her shoulder as she unpacks her groceries in the kitchen at Green Gables.

_“Yes, well, Anne, I did tell you that should have at least gotten Facebook or something. You’ve been away for six years, and a lot can happen in six years.”_

“I know. I just don’t like all that obligation of social media, and you know how Marilla hated anything of the sort when we were kids. I had to go behind her back through Matthew just to get Tumblr, even when I was sixteen already!” Anne replies, but she can almost _hear_ Diana rolling her eyes.

 _“You know, you could_ call _more often. I haven’t seen you since Cordelia was born, and we haven’t talked since you started your tour. You can’t really expect to know what’s been going on without you if you don’t make an effort to connect with people, Anne.”_

“I know, I know…” Anne sighs, taking her phone in her hand again and sitting heavily on the edge of the bench by the table. “It’s just… I guess coming back here like this has really put things in perspective. Like, when I was away it felt as though I could always come back and things would be just how I left them, but now that I’m here everything is different and I feel like…” She looks around the big, hollow kitchen, lit only by the mid-morning sun that filters in through the high windows. “Everything is changing and I don’t know who I am anymore, Diana.”

 _“Well I know who you are, Anne. You’re Anne Shirley, New York Times Breakout Bestseller, author of_ Kindred Spirits, _my bosom friend for life, and Avonlea Primary’s new grade one classroom teacher. You are everything you have ever wanted to be, Anne, and that’s more than most people here can say for themselves_.”

Anne smiled. “Thanks, Diana.”

_“You’re welcome. Now, I have to go make lunch for Cordelia and Jackie, but I’ll see you tomorrow when I drop off the girls for the first day of spring term, right?”_

“Yes.”

_“Okay. Bye, Anne.”_

“Bye, Diana.”

Diana ends the call and Anne once more sits in silence. As her thoughts wander, crosstitch that hangs on the wall catch her eye. It’s a motto Ms. Stacey told her once, and Anne sewed it as a gift for Marilla years ago.

_**Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet…** _

* * * 

Avonlea Primary is a small, unimposing red brick building, but to Anne on Monday morning it is as intimidating as a courthouse or publisher’s office. Things _must_ go well today, and she has had very little time to ensure that they will.

She takes a deep breath, puts on her best small-child smile, and adjusts her satchel on her shoulder. _Time for action_.

“Good morning everyone,” Ms. Harmon says from the front of the gymnasium, smiling out at the assembled parents and their little ones. Her hair, a darker auburn than Anne’s own and twice as long, is tied up in a complicated but clean braided bun, and she doesn’t look as though she’s aged a day since all those years ago when Anne helped out in her grade two class.

“I hope you are all doing well and that you enjoyed your spring holiday. I am so happy to have everyone back for spring term today, and I hope we have a wonderful term again. Now, before I let you all go I would like to introduce our new grade one teacher, Miss Shirley,” Ms. Harmon smiles, and Anne steps forward, giving a small wave to the sea of faces.

“Hello, everyone. I hope this term will be a fantastic one for us all.”

“Thank you, Miss Shirley,” Ms. Harmon nods, and Anne steps back. “Alright everyone, thank you for your time this morning. Parents, you may now make your way to your child’s classroom to drop them off for the remainder of the day. Thank you!”

There’s a sudden swarm of chatter as Ms. Harmon and the teachers exit the small platform, and Anne takes a deep breath. _One obstacle down, only a thousand more to go…_

Anne’s classroom is at one end of the long hallway for the lower primary school students, and across the hall from the kindergarten classroom. The large horizontal windows let in copious amounts of sunlight, and Anne takes a moment to breathe in the spring breeze that filters in through little open bit of screen at the bottom of the window. Yes, there would be plenty of scope for the imagination here.

The first of the class and their parents begin to trickle into the room and Anne winds her way around the room with her roster and clipboard, greeting the families and marking them off. Most of the families are familiar; despite Anne’s six year absence she has lived in Avonlea since she was twelve and knows many of the children’s parents from her school days. Josie and her older daughter Helen, Diana and Fred with Cordelia and Jackie, Billy Andrews’ mousey wife (the name of whom Anne has never been sure) and their frowning son, Peter. There are several other children Anne meets for the first time, children whose parents have moved to Avonlea sometime while Anne was away.

It’s almost eight o'clock when Anne checks her watch, and nearly time to send the parents away and begin class. She checks her roster…. nearly all of the children are present; she’s supposed to have twelve, and she has ten. Who are the two she’s missing?

She reads their names, frowning.

**_Diana & Anne Blythe_ **

What on God’s green Earth is–

There’s a knock on the door frame, and Anne looks up from her clipboard to see two little girls shuffle timidly into the room, a voice following them but its owner yet to be revealed.

“Ah, here it is. See girls, it’s the same classroom as you had last term. I’m sure your new teacher will be just–”

The speaker steps into the doorway behind the girls and Anne freezes, breath forgotten, heart beating so fast she can feel her fingertips tingling.

Gilbert Blythe, standing in the doorway of the classroom– of _her_ classroom, a hand on each of the young girls’ shoulders.

His _daughters_ ’ shoulders.

Gilbert frowns. “Anne– I mean, _Miss Shirley_. How lovely to see you.” He strides quickly over to Anne, extending his hand for a handshake. Anne blinks, still feeling like some poor, unsuspecting dear caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

She blinks again, forces herself to smile, and takes his hand, shaking it quickly.

“Nice to see you as well, Dr. Blythe. These are your daughters, I assume?” She adds, nodding at the two girls who have come to hide behind their father.

Gilbert smiles at this. “Yes, these are my girls, Nan and Di.” He gives them each a pat at their names; Nan is dark-haired and has an intelligent glint her hazel eyes, while Di is fair-haired and timid. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I have to get to the practice. I trust they will be in good hands with you, Miss Shirley.” He smiles at her then, and Anne wills herself not to faint out of sheer embarrassment. “You have my number, there, on the roster, if you need anything from me, anything at all.”

He gives each girl a kiss on the head, waves once to Diana over at the other end of the room, and makes his exit, leaving Anne and the twins to watch him go.

_You have my number if you need anything from me, anything at all…_

This is going to be a _lot_ harder than she originally thought.


	2. All Sunshine, All Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow." -- Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"
> 
> * * *
> 
> Gilbert makes a few unpredictable appearances, Anne begins to grieve, and more questions are posed than answered.

“Goodbye everyone! Don’t forget to pick your flower for Monday!”

Anne waves to the small children from the threshold of the school, smiling as they run to their waiting parents. Her first week has certainly been an adjustment, but she’s surprised how much she’s missed teaching. Children possess a unique and refreshing outlook on life, and after years surrounded by adults older than her who are only concerned with money and profit and statistics and their own egos she finds the grade ones of Avonlea Primary to be a fresh, cool wind on a hot summer day.

With all the students safely on their way home, Anne shoulders her bag and sighs. She dreads going home to the silent emptiness of Green Gables; the days and nights alone in the past week have been some of the loneliest she’s had since she was small and bouncing from foster family to foster family.

Instead, she bikes in the opposite direction, towards town. She hasn’t written in days, and Phil has warned her she’s got to start working on the new book soon. _Kindred Spirits_ has been out for over a year now, and the publishers will be getting anxious for something new from their Breakout Bestseller.

Spring is starting to fade into summer these days, and Anne marvels at the explosion of life all around her. She’s forgotten how beautiful PEI is at this time of year, how good it feels to bike with the wind in her hair, the warm breeze on her cheeks.

Oh, why did she wait so long to come home?

The little coffee shop on Main Street is surprisingly quiet despite the mid-afternoon rush outside. Anne takes a stool at the bar top near the window, ordering herself a cup of peach tea and settling in with her notebook and a pencil. She likes to do the first draft of all of her writing on paper before she types it because it feels more connected to the craft, somehow.

She sighs, taking a sip of her tea, and puts down the first sentence that’s been sitting in her head for days.

_I have always endeavored to be the bride of adventure._

Hmm. Now what? She has bits and pieces, a great line here or there, but no clear story or characters etched in her mind yet. That’s the most frustrating part about starting a new piece: sometimes you have perfect pieces but no vision of the finished puzzle.

“Penning the next great Canadian novel?” A voice close behind her asks, and Anne scoffs as she turns.

“Penciling, actually, Mr…”

She trails off when she realizes who it is behind her: Gilbert Blythe, smiling a small, amused smile and cradling a to-go cup of something frothy.

“Oh, _Dr._ Blythe.” Anne swallows, feeling the absurd need to stand. She stays seated.

“ _Miss Shirley_ , how lovely to see you again.” He catches her staring at his cup and holds it up in explanation .“I’m on break. How has your first week at Avonlea Primary treated you?”

“Um, fine, thank you.” The awkwardness is palpable, and Anne wracks her brain for something else to say. “Your daughters are very bright and curious students, just like their father.”

_Idiot. Why did you say that?_

“I’m… glad to hear that,” Gilbert responds, tone only slightly betraying his momentary confusion. Six years have sunk a cavern between them, and conversation feels delicate and alien. “I must admit,” he chuckles, “the girls have said they like you better than Miss Mckeon, their last teacher.”

“That’s very nice of them,” Anne replies, chipper smile hurting her cheeks. When did they drift so far apart that they can barely even carry on a simple conversation? She and Gilbert used to be such good friends…

“So, working on your next masterpiece, then?” Gilbert changes the subject, perching on the stool next to hers and nodding at her open notebook.

“What? Oh, yes. No rest for the wicked, after all.” She taps the end of her pencil on the paper for a moment before adding, “I’m having a little trouble with exactly what to write about, however.”

Gilbert thinks for a moment, then seems to come to a great idea.

“What about writing about Avonlea? You don’t even have to write about yourself, just about the town and stuff. We’ve certainly got quite a few interesting tales.” He smiles, a little of that familiar light in his hazel eyes.

Anne shakes her head, laughing harshly and doodling absently on her napkin. “I don’t think my publisher would be very happy with the stories I would tell about Avonlea, Gilbert.” The tip of her pencil snaps and she sighs in frustration, casting the pencil down onto her notebook with a little more force than necessary. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: ‘My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes’, Gilbert, and many of them have died right here in this town.”

Gilbert seems to be quieted by this statement, and when Anne looks back up at him he’s frowning, gaze fixed on some spot on the wall past her head. He feels her gaze on him and shifts his to meet her’s.

“I think you should write about what you want, Anne, regardless of what your publisher says. It’s your book, and it’s your life, and heck, it’s your town. If Avonlea is what is in your heart, then write about Avonlea.” He digs a pen out of his jacket pocket, handing it to her gently.

Anne bites her lip, taking at the writing implement reluctantly. “Thank you, Gil.”

He smiles sadly. “Any time, Anne-girl.”

It’s only after Gilbert has left and Anne is packing up her things that she realizes he’s left his pen. It’s a small, cheap thing, white plastic with the a little blue caduceus and information for Gilbert’s practice printed in smart, tiny letters.

**_Gilbert Blythe, MD, Primary Physician of Avonlea Medical Practice, Avonlea, PEI, Canada_ **

And below it, a phone number, one Anne recognizes from the parent information sheet at school.

**_(902) 963- 7874_ **

Well then. That’s the second time in a week he’s inadvertently given Anne his phone number. If that’s how he wants to play it, then Anne is willing to take the challenge. It’s time to see just what exactly she’s missed.

* * * 

The weather is unusually cold on Saturday morning, the sky clear and impossibly blue. Anne shrugs on a light jacket, crossing her arms against the chill as she trudges out past the barn in the early morning sunlight and across the field. There’s a big oak tree in the distance, and Anne smiles vaguely in recognition; she knows the Cuthbert family plot well.

“Things are going well, Marilla,” Anne murmurs to the fresh stone in front of her.

_**Marilla Emily Cuthbert** _

_**Sister, Mother, Woman of Her Own** _

_**Born at Green Gables, 8 May 1933** _

_**Laid to rest here, 20 May 2019** _

_**Aged 86** _

Anne sighs, shivering as a cool breeze blows through. “It’s nice to teach again. I’ve missed kids, you know? But it’s… it’s odd, being home, without you…” A tear slips down her cheek and she sniffs, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath.

“I’m so lost, Marilla. I haven’t felt like this since… since Redmond days, I guess. Everything’s changed and I’m back here under… under this circumstance and I just–” Her breath shudders, and she looks down at the toes of her rough boots. “I just miss you so much. I miss you, Mom.”

##  *** * ***

Jerry is out with the cow when Anne returns from the plot, singing something in nonsense or French, she can’t tell. He waves to her from across the field and she smiles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and waving back.

“Hey, Jerry! How are you this morning?”

“Oh, you know. Planting season’s over, so I can’t complain. Do you ‘ave a moment to talk today about the farm?”

Anne stops on the other side of the fence, leaning on a post. “Yeah, I have some lessons to plan and writing to do, but if you wanna talk during lunch we can do that.”

“Good,” Jerry agrees, nodding and patting the old cow’s side absently. “How was your first week at the school?”

“Good. It’s nice to have something to do besides giving the same lecture over and over all day.” She laughs, and Jerry smiles. “I should get to work. See you at lunch, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Anne heads back to the house, kicking off her boots once she’s inside and stopping for a moment to decide what to do first. Ah yes, plum puffs.

Anne has never been good at baking. Growing up, before Green Gables, she was never allowed to cook anything besides what was absolutely necessary, as the Hammonds were poor and not ones to waste resources on needless frippery like cakes or cookies. When she came to Avonlea, however, Marilla took her lack of culinary skill as a sign that Anne needed instruction, and she spent much of the weekend hours that first year trying and failing and feeling terribly wasteful. Luckily, her cooking improved, and she began to love the winter afternoons spent rolling dough and measuring vanilla and laughing when the confectioner’s sugar went _POOF_ all over the kitchen as she baked with Marilla.

But she’s never been as good at baking as Marilla, and there was one recipe she was never allowed to even try: the plum puffs. They were Marilla’s pride and joy, the most coveted recipe in all of Avonlea, and Anne was not allowed to make them, lest she blab about the recipe or ruin them.

But now, standing in the empty kitchen two weeks after Marilla has left it, Anne knows it’s the right thing to do. She’s the only one left who can even hope of making them, and it’ll be a good way of making peace with Marilla’s passing.

The rhythm of baking is soothing. Measure, pour, stir; sift, boil, mix. Anne loses herself in the familiarity of it, humming quietly as she works and taking comfort in the recipe written in Marilla’s neat, looping handwriting.

An hour and quite a lot of delicate baking and cooling later, she’s putting the finishing touches on the pastry. Slicing the light puffs in half, she gently adds the plum preserve and carefully replaces the top. Now, the only thing left to do is sprinkle the sugar on top…

Just as Anne is measuring the confectioner’s sugar there’s a sharp wrap on the back door frame, and it startles her. Sugar scatters everywhere as her hand jolts, and Anne curses.

“Oh, goodness, I am _so_ sorry,” comes the hasty apology from the other side of the screen, and Anne realizes with a start that it’s Gilbert.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She sets down the measuring cup and the bag of sugar, wiping her hands on her apron and going to the door to open it for Gilbert. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Dr. Blythe?”

Gilbert smiles. “I came to get my pen back. I realized belatedly that I’d left it with you yesterday, and…” He notices the table full of pastries behind her and trails off, eyebrows lifting. “You’re baking.”

Anne raises her eyebrows as well, crossing her arms in defense. “Yes.”

“Are they….?”

“Marilla’s plum puffs, yes.”

“Oh.”

Anne moves back to the table, taking up the measuring cup again and pouring the sugar quickly. “I thought I’d make them and bring them to church tomorrow, as a celebration of sorts. A spinster daughter carrying on her spinster mother’s traditions and all that.” She shakes her head, carefully sprinkling the sugar over the swirled golden-brown pastries.

“Anne, you’re not a spinster; you’re not even thirty.” Gilbert mutters, watching her work.

“Oh, like you would have anything to say about being single, Gilbert Blythe.” Anne retorts, rolling her eyes and pretending to maintain great interest in her sugaring.

“That’s a low blow, Anne, and you know it. It’s not like I didn’t give you a chance–”

“By what, forcing my hand? Every time you asked me… You have no tact, you know that right?”

Gilbert frowns, looking resigned but offended, and for some strange reason it spurs Anne on, some of her old fire sparking within her. She straightens, planting her hands on her hips and facing Gilbert, trying not to acknowledge their infuriating height difference.

“I don’t know why you came out here, Gilbert, but I _do_ know it wasn’t just to retrieve some silly, cheap little pen. So say what you have to say or do what you have to do or _leave_.”

They stare at each other, the air between them taught, Anne with her eyes narrowed and Gilbert looking wounded and indecisive.

He steps forward, silently, carefully, and Anne frowns. Then he takes her cheek in his hand and all at once he’s kissing her.

Anne pulls away, brow furrowed, breathless. “Stop. No.” She shakes her head, incredulous. “ _Seriously_?”

“I– Anne, I–”

“You’re _married_ , Gilbert. You have _children_. You can’t just go around kissing women who don’t want to be kissed just because you _feel like it_.”

Gilbert doesn’t meet her gaze. “Anne…” When he does look at her it’s with a gentle sadness she hasn’t seen in so long, and her heart almost skips a beat.

“You’ve missed more than I thought.”

He turns then, letting the back door screen slam behind him, and Anne watches him as he goes.

She frowns at her plum puffs when he’s out of sight, trying not to think about the sob she heard him stifle as he left.

What a mess she’s in now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the phone number used here is that of the Green Gables Heritage Place in “Avonlea”, PEI. 
> 
> You can find marilla’s famous plum puff recipe here: https://www.bookclubcookbook.com/plum-puffs/


	3. A Great Many Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could have been a great many things." --Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"
> 
> * * * 
> 
> Things get messier.

“Are you really sure about this, Anne?” Cole asks as she’s packing the plum puffs in their tupperware on Sunday morning.

“Yes, Cole, I’m sure I want to go to church. I may be more spiritual than Christian, but it was always Marilla’s community, and I feel I should go at least once more out of respect.” She puts the top on the glass container, satisfied that they’ve all fit. “Besides, what else would we do with all of these puffs?”

“Eat them, maybe?”

“Oh ha ha.”

“Are you two arguing again?” Roy strides into the kitchen, dapper as ever, the mirth in his eyes giving away his joke.

“ _Never,_ ” Cole laughs, rolling his eyes and turning to face his husband to give him a quick kiss. When they part he takes in Roy’s outfit with a frown. “You look fancy. Is this supposed to be fancy?”

“It’s not supposed to be fancy,” Anne reassures him, crossing behind Roy to gather her purse from the end table by the door. “It’s just church. You look fine. Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

##  *** * ***

The service seems shorter than Anne remembers, and when it’s over the parishioners linger on the steps of the small church to share baked goods and chat. Anne drifts between clumps of acquaintances, smiling and accepting condolences and offering her plum puffs.

Mrs. Lynde, stooped and wrinkled but sharp as ever, is seated on the steps, her cane by her side, deep in conversation with Mrs. Gillman, the town seamstress. Anne steels herself for the interaction as she approaches them; her and Mrs. Lynde’s relationship has been one of near constant consternation for the fifteen years they’ve known each other, a few incidences of gratitude notwithstanding.

“Ah, Anne Shirley!” Mrs. Lynde greets her as Anne reaches them, the corners of her mouth turning up. “I hope these plum puffs are edible, my dear.”

She takes one and appraises it with a critical eye.

Anne laughs lightly. “Oh Mrs. Lynde, this is _not_ the County Fair of 2009.” She smiles knowingly and Mrs. Lynde chuckles.

“I should hope not, young woman.” She bites into the pastry cautiously, but her hard expression melts as she registers the taste. “I’m proud of you, Anne. These are almost as good as Marilla’s.”

“Thank you, Rachel. That means a lot.” Anne smiles, then takes the opportunity of Mrs. Lynde’s good mood to ask a question that’s been burning a hole in the back of her mind since the dizzying events of yesterday afternoon.

“I didn’t see Dr. Blythe and his family at the service today, Mrs. Lynde. Do they usually come to church?”

Rachel laughs at that, and Mrs. Gillman looks slightly uncomfortable. “Oh no, sweetheart. The Blythes haven’t come to church in years, not since dear Christine passed, bless her soul, when the girls were babies. Gilbert’s not much a man of God, apparently.”

Anne frowns, mind unwilling to comprehend what Mrs. Lynde has just told her. “Christine… Christine died? How? When?”

Rachel’s face softens, and she shakes her head sympathetically. “My, you really have been out of the loop, dear. I’m surprised Marilla didn’t tell you when it happened. Darling Christine had health complications after the girls were born– anemia, some said, but I wouldn’t know for sure– and she passed when they were nearly a year old. She’ll have been gone for five years now this June, actually.”

It’s as if the world has tilted slightly. Everything is just a little bit wrong, a little bit different. Anne’s heart beats faster, and she blinks at Mrs. Lynde, trying to process the new information. She’s so lost in her thoughts, even, that she jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Anne?”

“Wha-?!” She turns, sees that it’s just Cole, and presses a hand to her heart, taking a deep breath. “Oh, Cole. Yes?”

Cole frowns. “Are you okay?”

She waves a hand at him dismissively. “I’m fine. What did you want?”

Cole raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it any further. “Um, it’s almost two. We should get going back to Green Gables.”

Anne sighs. “Right, yes. Actually, why don’t you and Roy head back to Green Gables with the car? I think I’d like to walk. Clear my head, you know?”

Cole’s frown deepens. “Are you sure?”

Anne gives him a stern look. “Yes, Cole. Why wouldn’t I be?” She challenges him to push her with her hard gaze, and he acquiesces.

“Okay. Roy and I will take the car.” He gives one last worried glance to Anne, and then waves to Mrs. Lynde and Mrs. Gillman. “Afternoon, Ladies.”

He strides away, and Mrs. Lynde smiles after him. “That boy turned out quite well, if I do say so myself, for an _artist_ ,” she says fondly, and Mrs. Gillman rolls her eyes.

Anne, still lost in thought, doesn’t care to retort. “I’m… going to go. Thank you for the chat, Mrs. Lynde. I’ll see you around.”

She leaves as if in a trance, and Mrs. Lynde shakes her head as she watches her go. “An odd one for life, that girl.”

Mind racing, Anne’s feet carry her to Main Street and towards the edge of town in the opposite direction of Green Gables. Instead, she ends up in front of one of the newest buildings in town, its four-year-old sign standing out among the other older, weathered signs next door.

**Avonlea Medical Practice, est. 2015**

It’s time to get some answers.

##  *** * ***

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

The woman sitting behind the desk at the front of the office is a pretty young thing, the kind of girl Anne would have despised when she was in school. Straight, blonde hair, dimples, a small button nose; so unlike Anne that it seems fitting somehow that she sits there, smiling politely.

Anne smiles back, lips tight. “I’m here to see Gil– Dr. Blythe. I know I don’t have an appointment but–”

“Oh, that’s alright,” she clicks her pen, in and out and in and out, and Anne can feel herself getting prickly with annoyance. “Dr. Blythe doesn’t have anything this morning, so you can go right in.” She nods to a door on her right.

“Thank you,” Anne mutters, and steps purposely towards the door. She stops, however, just before the threshold, her anger and resolve flickering for just a moment. Is this really the right thing to do? After all, she’s the one who left, she’s the one who said no all those year ago…

No. This has to be done; _she_ has to do this.

She takes a breath, steps up to the door, and knocks firmly, once, twice.

_Come on Shirley, pull yourself together. You can do this._

The door opens, and Gilbert’s eyes widen when he sees her on the other side.

“Hello, Gilbert. May I come in?”

##  *** * ***

Anne isn’t sure what she expected, but somehow Gilbert’s office surprises her. It’s so very Gilbert, she figures as she takes it in, that it catches her off guard.

Then again, it is _his_ office.

The walls are painted a very faint yellow, just enough that the late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window gives the room a warm glow. His medical certificates and diplomas are mounted on the wall next to a modest bookshelf which is filled with books with long, complicated, and probably very boring titles.

“Please, have a seat,” he says carefully, patting the back of the chair in front of the desk absently as he passes it to sit in his own chair. Anne sits, still taking in the office. The desk is a dark, heavy thing, and Anne remembers it vaguely from the old doctor’s office. There’re two small picture frames on the corner next to Gilbert’s closed laptop, and Anne can just see the outlines of the figures in the pictures– Nan & Di as toddlers with Gilbert holding them, one on each hip, the three of them grinning, and a dark-haired woman with a soft smile in a gauzy wedding dress, her eyes laughing at someone out of sight.

_Christine_.

“I wanted to talk to you, Gilbert… properly,” Anne starts, sitting up straighter and crossing her ankles to keep her legs from twitching with the nerves that have crept into her body now that she’s sitting here. “I didn’t see you at church and I was talking to Mrs. Lynde and I–”

“Oh, you were talking to Mrs. Lynde, like that ever ends well…” Gilbert mutters, rearranging a stack of papers and avoiding her gaze.

“Well, _anyway_ ,” Anne says pointedly, pursing her lips. “I came to talk to you about something she said. Gilbert,” she leans forward, and he looks up. “Why didn’t you tell me Christine was dead?”

Gilbert blinks, blindsided. “I, well, I assumed you already knew. It has been… a while.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t.”

“Obviously.” There’s an uncomfortable pause, and then Gilbert stands again. “If that’s all you came to talk to me about, Miss Shirley…”

“Well, I…” Anne stands too, then sits. “No. That isn’t all of it. I want to know… I want to know why you kissed me yesterday, in the kitchen.”

“Anne…”

“Gilbert, for once in your life could you just be honest with me?”

Gilbert sits again, sighing heavily. “I honestly don’t know why I kissed you, Anne. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

Anne raises an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Obviously.” He runs a hand through his hair, and Anne has to consciously ignore the small voice in the back of her head that practically swoons at how handsome his dark curls are all tousled like that. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard in a long time, and she’ll have to worry about it later.

Right now, she has more important things to worry about than Gilbert’s overwhelming aesthetic beauty.

“So you raised them on your own, then?” Anne asks, nodding to the picture of Gilbert and Nan and Di. He seems a little taken aback by the change of subject, but rolls with it quite well.

“Mostly. Our neighbor in Carmody, Amy, was a big help when they were little but… they were all I had besides Bash and Delly for a long time.” He glances at the picture, and then at the one of Christine.

“She liked you, you know. She’d read what you’d written at Redmond and she thought you were so talented.” He traces the edge of the frame with his fingertip, takes a deep breath, and looks at Anne, gaze soft and sad and unguarded again, just like yesterday in the kitchen and on the bridge that night all those years ago.

“When the girls were born… Di’s name was my idea, and Nan’s…” He sniffs, and Anne’s chest feels heavy with the weight of what she knows he’ll say next. “Christine knew how much you meant to me, Anne, and I will never forget the day she handed her little, impossibly small and delicate daughter to me and said ‘here’s your Anne’.” He blinks, hard, and looks away.

“Gil…” Anne breathes, because that’s all her brain will let her think, let alone speak.

And then she says the impossible: “Did you love her, Gilbert?”

And he answers just as impossibly: “Do you even have to ask? I love _you_ , Anne.”

And she leaves, because what else is she supposed to do?

##  *** * ***

“So what happened yesterday?” Cole asks nonchalantly, and Anne just about wants to strangle him. She seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed (if that’s even possible when one’s bed is against a wall) and unfortunately Cole knows exactly what sort of buttons to push to get her to talk.

“Really, Cole? At the breakfast table?” She sighs, digging angrily at her soft-boiled egg.

Cole raises his eyebrows, sharing a sidelong glance with Roy. “Anne, you know you’ll probably feel better about it if you tell someone, right? And we’re right here, and we care about you, so…”

“Ugh,” Anne huffs, dropping her spoon onto her plate rather loudly. “Fine. I went to talk to Gilbert yesterday, okay?”

It’s Roy’s turn for surprise. “Really? Why?”

“I didn’t see him at church, and I was talking to Mrs. Lynde–”

“–Oh, you were talking to Mrs. Lynde…” They both roll their eyes and Anne throws her balled up napkin at Roy across the table.

“Shut up. Yes, I was talking to Mrs. Lynde, and she mentioned that Gilbert hadn’t been to church since Christine had died and I… I didn’t know that Christine had died.”

Roy and Cole share another look, and Anne clenches her jaw.

“I swear to God, if you tell me I should have known or gotten Facebook or Instagram or something, I _will_ leave this table.” They keep quiet, and Anne sighs. “Anyway, I went to his office to talk to him about it… and to ask him why he kissed me on Saturday.”

Cole’s eyes widen. “Woah woah woah, he _kissed_ you on Saturday? When?!”

Anne bites her lip. “In the afternoon, when I was making the plum puffs. It was before you guys got here.”

“Wow, okay. So what did he say, why did he do it?”

Anne looks down at her plate, the half-slice of toast left with its butter cool not giving her any answers. “Well, I don’t actually know. He said he thought it was the right thing to do at the time and then I asked about his daughters and _then_ he told me how Christine had always liked me and how she named Nan after me and I asked if he loved her and he told me he loved _me_ and…” She takes a breath, mind still reeling as she replays it all in her head. “And then I left.”

“ _What_?!” Roy and Cole say in unison, and when Anne looks up she finds them both quite shocked.

She shrugs. “I left. I left his office and I walked back to Green Gables and you know the rest.”

“You _left_?” Cole repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. “That is, like, the _last_ thing you should have done.”

Anne rolls her eyes, sliding off the end of the bench to stand. “Gee, thanks for the advice, bestie.”

“I’m serious, Anne, you can’t keep running away from situations you can’t handle.”

“Just watch me,” Anne retorts, gathering their plates and carrying them to the sink. “I’m very good at avoiding things.”

“Yeah, like maybe mentioning to him that you’re ace?” Roy says off hand, and Anne drops the plate she’s washing, whirling around to face him.

“Royal Gardner-Mackenzie, you _know_ that is a _grossly_ unfair statement.” She points a finger at him, but he just raises his eyebrows at her.

“And you know I’m right, Anne-girl. You have to tell him someday…”

“ _Shut. Up_.”

Stepping over the shattered remains of the plate, Anne storms out of the room, letting the screen door slam behind her as she leaves the house.

Cole stands, shaking his head and scanning for a broom.

“Well, that was a disaster.”


	4. Ships & Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." -- Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"
> 
> * * * 
> 
> How did Anne and Gilbert grow apart? We get a little peek into Gilbert's side of things, and take a trip down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is real heavy on the angst.... sorry? 
> 
> TW: mentions of death and grief/references to depression.

**GILBERT • WINTER 2007**

"Will you just hold still?" Winnifred laughed, pulling her hand away from his face to avoid getting eyeliner somewhere that wasn't Gilbert's eye.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this, Winnie," Gilbert muttered, but kept still as she'd asked.

"I told you," Winnie leaned in again to start on his left eye, and Gilbert could smell the lavender soap she used. "You have such nice eyes, and they'll look so big and beautiful with eyeliner. See, I'm almost finished..." She bit her lip, finishing the tail of the smooth black line, then sat back with a smile. "Perfect. Look in the mirror!"

Gilbert chuckled, turning his head from side to side to get a full view. Winnie was right, the eyeliner did bring out the color in his eyes, accentuating their perfect shape and particular shade of hazel. He smiled, about to congratulate her on a job well done when a darker thought crossed his mind and he frowned.

"What is it?" Winnie asked gently, and Gilbert sighed.

"Anne's still mad at me for taking you to the Winter Formal. She won't talk to me, and when she does it's all clipped and unnatural and she keeps saying how 'happy she is for us'. I told her we're not even dating!" He flopped back on his bed, and Winnie flopped back next to him, both of them staring up at the ceiling.

"She's a prideful girl, Anne, and although that's a wonderful trait it seems to work against her favor sometimes." Winnie sighed. "Tell me again why you love her so much?"

"Anne is..." Gilbert studied the cracks in the paint above him, trying to gather how he felt into words. "Anne is too much for words. She's ethereal, she's ineffable, she's poetry and prose and birdsong and..." Winnie was laughing at him but he grinned and shook his head. "The first day I met her was in European Lit four years ago and she read Brontë like it was her own thoughts. She's a year ahead, did you know? That's how we're only a grade apart. And she was taking European Lit at _twelve_."

Winnie scoffed. "Jesus."

"I _know_."

Winnie sat up then, raising her eyebrows at Gilbert. "Mate, you have _got_ to do something about this. I mean, you took someone who is _not_ Anne-- that's me, by the way, your best friend, if you hadn't noticed-- to the Winter Formal and you've never even asked her out, and you're always competing with her for grades... What's your plan, here, exactly, Gilly-boy?"

Gilbert groaned. "Winnie, I graduate in three months. Who knows if we'll even end up going to the same university? I don't want to ruin something before it's even begun."

"Wimp!" She singsonged, standing from the bed and shouldering her messenger bag. "I should get going. Gotta be back at the girls' lodging by five or else the monster of a matron will have my head." She rolled her eyes and Gilbert sat up to watch her go.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow. And please, for the love of all that is sacred and holy in this world, get a life, Blythe? You can't spend the end of your grade twelve year hanging out in your dormitory room with your female best friend and cramming your brain with medical jargon. Live a little, Gil."

"Thanks, I'll think about it," he deadpanned.

"Oh well, I tried." She sighed dramatically, flounced from the room as only one so well-bred and self-assured as Winnifred Rose could do, and closed the door behind her.

Gilbert bit his lip. He really did need a plan.

##  *** * ***

**GILBERT • SPRING 2007**

"Anne... Anne!" Gilbert jogged to catch up with the redhead as she turned the corner briskly. "Anne, please! I just want to talk..." He sighed, jogging a little faster until he stopped abruptly as Anne whirled to face him.

"What, Gilbert?" Her hair was falling out of its loose bun, flyaways wild and forgotten. It was two weeks before final exams, and they had both been studying hard. But he had to talk to her.

"I-- I just wanted to talk to you, since we haven't much lately, and-- and I'm graduating three weeks..." He sighed, still slightly winded from his impromptu run despite the years of hockey and lacrosse. "Anne, all I've ever been is kind to you, and I--"

Anne narrowed her eyes. "Need I remind you of a certain vegetable-related incident?"

"Okay, that was a mistake and you know that."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever, water under the bridge yada yada yada."

Gilbert grinned at that, and Anne seemed to catch the joke just as he did, and she held up a finger in warning. "Don't you _dare_ say what you're thinking, Gilbert Blythe. We agreed not to talk about last summer."

"I know, I know. But you walked right into that one, Carrots, come _on_."

Anne's lips turned up at the corners, and suddenly they were laughing, and whatever animosity that had hung between them the moment before dissipated like the early morning mist.

"Are you gonna miss me here next year when I'm off at Redmond? You might actually be top of the class without me here to compete with," he said after a moment, shoving his hands his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting with nerves.

"Actually, I think I'll be just fine. I got an email today from the director of Admissions at Redmond; I was on track to graduate early anyway, but with all of the extra credits I've earned this semester it looks like I'll be able to start at Redmond this fall instead of in the spring. You're not going to shake me that easily, Gilbert." She was grinning then, and Gilbert was so stunned by her news that he wasn't even taking the opportunity to admire the way the sun lit up the golden parts of her hair from behind.

"That's... That's, wow, Anne, I'm so happy for you." His face hurt from how widely he smiled then, and he wanted to hug her but refrained... it would probably just make things more awkward for both of them.

"I'm excited," she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

"Me too," he answered quietly, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing.

"... I have to study," Anne said finally, breaking the trance they had fallen under.

"Yes, of course. I should too. I heard the Mid-Century Lit final is torture."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to take a walk later? We can catch up, talk about Redmond..."

"I'd like that." They smiled at each other, and Anne fingered her backpack strap. "Later, then."

"Later."

They parted ways, Anne towards the library and Gilbert across the green to the science building. He may not have had a plan, but it looked as though he and Anne might finally become friends after all, and for now that was good enough for him.

* * * 

**GILBERT • SPRING 2008**

"Okay, okay..." Anne shifted, tucking a leg beneath her, and studied the index card in front of her. "Jeez, some of these words are hard for even _me_ to pronounce... stupid pre-med." She rolled her eyes, smiling lopsidedly despite her faux consternation, and he raised his eyebrows in return. Anne cleared her throat. "Okay. What pyrimidine in RNA replaces Thymine during DNA transcription?"

Gilbert thought for a moment, but before he could speak his phone buzzed on his nightstand. He frowned. It buzzed again. "Somebody's calling me..." He reached across the bed, trying not to fall off as he unplugged his phone from its charging cord and flipped it over to look at the screen.

He held it up, showing Anne the display, and she frowned as well as she read the caller ID. "It's Bash..."

He nodded, accepting the call and switching it to speaker as it connected. "Hey, Bash. What's up? Why couldn't you just text me?"

There was a sigh on the other end, and Gilbert and Anne both leaned closer to the phone between them, frowns deepening. When Bash spoke it was with a tightness they had never heard before in his voice, and it brought a chill to the room.

"Gilbert... do you remember a few weeks ago when Mary cut her hand chopping onions? We thought it was nothing at the time, and then when she was having those dizzy spells last week we thought it might just be a cold or something but..." He sighed again, and Gilbert's eyes widened, looking fearfully to Anne across from him.

"The doctor said it's sepsis. Pretty late stage, apparently, too, since her immune system has been weaker after Delphine. He's estimated she..." Bash's breath caught and Anne and Gilbert were barely breathing themselves. "He's estimated she has maybe a week before... before she...." He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. Anne and Gilbert could hear him holding back a sob on the other end, and neither of them blinked as the seconds ticked by. "Can you come home, Gilbert? Please?"

Gilbert swallowed. "Of course," he said weakly, and Bash took a deep breath.

"Thank you. Text me if you need a ride home from the station."

"Will do."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Bash hung up, and Gilbert let his phone slip from his hand and drop onto the duvet. Anne, flashcard forgotten, looked as though she had just been gutted, and he didn't look much better. He felt tears sting his eyes, and for the first time since the night his father died, he didn't hold them back.

"Why do I always lose them?" He moaned painfully into Anne's shoulder as they embraced, and she shook her head slightly, clutching the stupid flashcard and his sweater in her fist on his back.

"I don't know, Gil. I don't know."

##  *** * ***

**GILBERT • FALL 2008**

Going back to school felt like betrayal. He was supposed to be happy-- Sophomore year of university, after all-- but all he felt was guilty. Bash had insisted that he was fine, that now that his mother was living with them on the farm they would manage just fine without him, but it still felt wrong to leave them and go back to Redmond like nothing had changed when _everything_ had changed. Again.

But at least he had Anne. He reminded himself of that as they sat on the long bus ride to school, Anne beside him with her headphones on, no doubt listening to some podcast or another. There were so few of them from Avonlea that went to Redmond now-- what with Diana dropping out at the end of Freshman year to be closer to home with Fred and Ruby taking sick leave and Josie and Jane having found work and boyfriends more promising than school over the summer-- that he would have felt even more guilty and alone if he hadn't had Anne.

Anne knew about loss firsthand. Anne had known what a wonderful woman Mary had been.

And yet, Anne wasn't speaking much to him these days.

It was a curious thing. Their friendship had always been mercurial, but it seemed as though through all the events of the spring she had supported him while simultaneously retreating from their relationship. He remembered the easy banter that day of the free speech protest, how he stood up for her at the Gazette when the board had wanted to fire her for her article about the county fair. He remembered how she'd fought for Diana when she'd come out to her parents and told them she was moving in with Fred, and how Anne had squeezed his hand so tight it had almost turned blue when Ruby had told them she wouldn't be going back to Redmond that fall and might have to move to hospice if thing got worse.

And yet Anne was drifting away. She didn't read him her writing as often as she used to, and when they got back to school she didn't offer to come over and help him put up his posters in his new room. They were taking different classes that semester and life seemed to be pulling them apart again, just when they'd come so close to sticking together.

When he Skyped Bash at the end of September, his face fell when the older man mentioned the redhead.

"So how are you an' Anne doing?" Bash asked, and Gilbert sighed, occupying his gaze with a stray thread on his duvet cover.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her except in passing in like a week."

Bash frowned. "Trouble in paradise, Blythe? I thought you two were finally becoming good friends."

Gilbert shook his head. "I don't know. She's busy, I'm busy; we live in different buildings at opposite ends of campus and none of our classes overlap. I've texted her, but she hasn't said more back than basic answers."

Bash was quiet in thought for a moment, smiling at Delphine on his lap as the toddler played with a slab of Play-Doh. "And I'm assuming she doesn't know how you feel about her yet either, Blythe?"

Gilbert laughed harshly. "God, no. You know how terrible I am at flirting, Bash. Besides, what would I tell her? 'Hey, Anne, I know I'm nothing like your romantic ideal and have literally never given you any reason to think of me as anything more than a friend, but I've been hopelessly in love with you since we were in European Lit together and I'm never gonna marry anyone but you'? It's ridiculous, and you know it."

Bash was grinning. "Is that part about the marrying new? Last time we talked about your redheaded Juliet you weren't even sure you were _friends_. Now you've decided you're not gonna marry anyone unless it's her? That's more than just a crush, Blythe."

Gilbert blushed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes in embarrassment and annoyance. "Bash...."

"You never fail to surprise me, Gilbert, I'll give you that. You're barely even twenty!"

"Bash, I'm serious."

Bash sobered, bouncing Delphine idly. "I know, Blythe, I know. I'd barely known Mary two months before I knew she was the one, and you've known Anne six years, so I really shouldn't be teasing you.... but it's just so fun!"

Gilbert shook his head, laughing. "I should go. I have a test tomorrow, ya know. It's good to see you though, to know you and Hazel and Delly are doing okay."

Bash smiled. "We're fine, Blythe. Get your fancy education; we'll be here waiting when you come home again." He shifted the camera so Delphine was center frame on his lap, and gave her a little nudge. "Say goodbye to Uncle Gilby, Delly!"

Delphine grinned, waving her little hands excitedly. "Bye bye Unc-y Gilby!"

Gilbert grinned back despite himself, waving to the toddler. "Bye, Delly! Bye, Bash!"

The call ended, and he tried desperately not to think about how silent his room was again.

Sometimes he wondered if that silence would finally swallow him someday.


	5. Empty Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands." -- Lousia May Alcott, "Little Women"
> 
> * * *
> 
> The memories continue. Gilbert asks an impossible question, and Anne gives him an impossible answer. A new and important player in our story is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Long time no update, I know. But it's my goal this month to update all my multichapter fics, so here I am!
> 
> The first part of this was posted on tumblr ages ago, but never here. It's a version of a VERY iconic AoGG movie moment :) 
> 
> Enjoy! and as always, comments are very much appreciated!

**GILBERT • SUMMER 2010**

The wedding was beautiful. Diana and Fred had wanted little pageantry; after years of pressure and perfection imposed upon Diana by her parents, she had taken the opportunity of their limited involvement (two years she’d been dating this woman, and they still couldn’t seem get their heads around it being more than a “phase”…) to plan a gathering that was intimate, simple, and beautiful. After all, Fred wouldn’t hear of anything with more than fifty guests anyway.

Anne was the maid of honor, of course, looking positively radiant in her cornflower blue dress with a cluster of faux pink roses pinned into her hair over her right ear. Gilbert remembered a comment she’d made years ago about how terribly pink went with her red hair, but he couldn’t help but think as she walked down the aisle, practically glowing with pride, how beautiful the color was with her rosy complexion.

The hot summer day began to cool as the afternoon waned, and the reception in the yard near the Lake of Shining Waters was in full swing, the string lanterns lit and the champagne flowing. Fred and Diana had ditched their shoes in favor of dancing on the grass barefoot to the horribly cliche pop song someone was playing, and Gilbert watched them spin each other around and around, dresses floating in their wake. Anne should have been there too, laughing and clapping and enjoying her best friends’ wedding, but when he glanced about, searching for her auburn head amongst the crowd, she was nowhere to be found.

The song ended and the brides exited the dance floor. Diana sat heavily next to GIlbert, taking a sip from the half-full champagne flute left unoccupied next to him.

“Enjoying yourself, Gilbert?” She asked, face a-glow.

“Of course,” Gilbert answered, a small smile on his lips. Then he shifted, running a hand absently through his hair. “Have you seen Anne, Diana?”

Diana smiled knowingly. “She said she needed a moment. It’s only been a few months since Matthew, anyway, and I think she’s still having trouble enjoying herself.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Anne’s been glad to have you about lately, Gilbert, even if she hasn’t told you. I know she took it so hard when I left Redmond two years ago, and you’re the only one who really  _ knows _ her at school, so…” Diana smiled, and Gilbert felt the tips of his ears redden. “ _ I’m _ glad she has you; I may be her ‘bosom friend’, but you are a true kindred spirit, Gilbert Blythe.”

“Thanks, Diana.”

They were silent for a moment, Gilbert lost in thought and Diana sitting happily, drinking in the beauty and magic of her wedding evening, before Fred made her way over to the table, grinning.

“Di, you would not  _ believe _ what your great aunt Jo just said. Did you know she knows someone in Vancouver who does research with AI?! That is  _ so cool _ !” Fred’s cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were sparkling with that particular glow they got when she started talking about coding and technology. Diana laughed.

“Looks like I’ve been summoned.” She gave him a knowing wink, and grinned as Fred tugged her away. “Go find Anne, Gilbert!” She called over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Gilbert finished his champagne, stood, and wandered away from the party, hands in his pockets. If he were Anne…

The Lake of Shining Waters. Perhaps… yes, that was where she would be. There was a little bridge, one he remembered fondly; he chuckled to himself as a memory from the summer before he’d gone to Queen’s crossed his mind. It had been back when he and Anne had been academic rivals in earnest and Anne had made the mistake of taking a Tennyson reenactment too far. Despite his idiotic comment about lake trout, Gilbert had thought Anne made a wonderfully striking Elaine– even if she had been soaking wet and spitting mad at the time.

He found her on the bridge just as he’d thought, leaning against the railing and staring out at the water, lost in her imagination no doubt. He treaded quietly, approaching her as one might approach a rare bird while trying not to scare it away.

“What are you thinking about?” Gilbert asked, stopping just a meter or so from her.

“'I’m afraid to speak or move for fear that all this wonderful beauty will simply vanish like a broken silence,’” Anne whispered, gazing out at the still, clear lake. She smiled sadly. “I don’t remember where I read that… oddly fitting, don’t you think?”

Gilbert chuckled softly and came around to stand on her other side, leaning on the railing next to her. “This day, this party… it reminds me of that picnic we had that first summer you were here, do you remember?”

“Mm…” Anne agreed absently, gaze still caught on the glittering water growing dull in the dusk. She swallowed. “I don’t want any of it to change, Gilbert.” There was a tremble in her voice, and he knew they both were thinking of more than just picnics and summer nights. “I wish I could just hold onto those days forever; I have a feeling things will never be the same again.” She bit her lip, but he could see her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

He turned, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Well, I won’t change, that I can promise you,” he said softly. Then his left hand slid from the railing and strayed to his pocket. He swallowed thickly. “Anne, there’s something I wanna ask you.”

Anne looked down, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if she was trying to will him away. Her tone was low and nervous. “No, Gil, please don’t.”

Gilbert searched her face, and his gut twisted. He was taking a risk with this, and already it was going so wrong. “Anne, I know that you’re hurting, and I’ve tried to be there for you in every way I can but… you pull away when you’re in pain, you always have, and it never makes anything better and I care about you so–”

She shook her head, turning and looking up at him with those big, sad, beautiful limpid grey-green-blue eyes. “Well stop, please. I don’t need you to care for me Gilbert, I never have, even when you insisted upon it.” Her voice was like shattered glass, beautiful but with an impossible edge of pain.

“Anne, we only have one year left of Redmond, and then I’ve got to go to graduate school… What are you going to do now that Marilla’s all alone?”

Anne bit her lip. “Mrs. Lynde is moving in with Marilla. Her Thomas has been gone for a few years now, and although they fight like cats and dogs they’ll enjoy the company.” She looked down, picking at an ink stain under her nail. “I tried to tell Marilla I’d be happy to leave school or see if there’d be a way for me to finish early but she wouldn’t hear of it. I’m still so young, and she wants me not to worry about her, even though I do ever so much.”

Gilbert sighed. “I’m sorry about last week when I made a fool of myself at that party. I only wanted to show you how much I care, and I wasn’t thinking properly… but what I said was true, Anne. You are my everything, and I know I’m no poet, but…” His left hand, having searched his pocket, found what it was looking for and he gripped the tiny box in his fist, trying to steady his shaking hand. He swallowed again, but before he could open his mouth, she held up a finger.

“No, Gil, I know exactly what you’re going to say and my answer is no. We’d end up fighting all the time or shutting each other out over and over like we always do, and you know it.”

She gestured to her sides in exasperation, then let her hands fall gracelessly. “We’d both be unhappy,” she sighed, shaking her head. “And then we’d wish we’d never done it.”

Gilbert gripped the box in his pocket harder, chest tightening in dread. “Everybody expects it, Anne, you must know that.”

“Well, then, everyone can mind their own damn business, Gil,” she retorted, but softened her tone when she saw the hurt on his face in response.

She sighed. “You just think that you love me,” she whispered. Gilbert’s eyebrows came together in the middle, raised just at their apex, obviously wounded, and Anne bowed her head in resignation.

“Anne,” Gilbert whispered, tilting her chin with a soft touch to lift her gaze. “I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I need you… I can’t go on knowing that if I had only just–”

Anne swallowed, tearing her gaze and chin away from his fingertips. “I promise that I’ll always be here if you need me.” She gave him an awkward pat on the arm. “You’re my best friend, Gilbert, let’s not change that,” she added cooly.

Gilbert sighed, defeated, the hand in his pocket letting go of its precious box. “Just friends, huh? I thought we were kindred spirits.” Their gaze met one more time, and he tried to put everything he had ever felt for Anne Shirley into that one pleading look.

“Please say yes…” he breathed.

Anne turned. “I can’t… Gil, I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t.”

And as she ran away into the sunset, shoulders shaking with sobs she could not face Gilbert and cry, he watched her go, knowing that it might well have been the beginning of the end.

*** * ***

**GILBERT • JANUARY 2011**

_ Tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap _ ; the hard sole of his Oxford kept an irregular, anxious rhythm on the fancy tile floor of the hallway.  _ Tap tap tap, tap tap _ , mind racing, heel tapping; Gilbert had always been a fidget, but this was just excessive.

**_Intro to Psychology_ ** , aka the last exterior credit he needed to graduate. Why was he so nervous?

He checked his phone again for maybe the hundredth time that day. No new messages.  _ Nothing from Anne _ , he reminded himself, and bit his lip. She was probably just busy, chatting the ear off of one of her new professors after class or something.  _ She’ll call when she gets a moment. _

Given their level of communication recently, even he knew that might be a lie.

It was odd to be going back to books and wood-paneled group study. Gilbert had spent the last few terms embedded in research and practice, dissecting and testing. To be here, in the small classroom hallway of the old bit of the science building where he began his university career, was strange.

_ All stories are cyclical, even if we don’t see it at first glance, _ Anne had told him once.  _ Everything, in some way, ends as it begins.  _

He wondered, fleetingly, what that would mean for him and Anne. 

“Can I sit here?” A voice asked. Gilbert looked up. A woman stood above him, eyebrow raised. He shrugged. 

“Be my guest.” 

She smiled, broad and slightly unconvincing, and sat carefully on the bench next to him. “Look at us, early for class on the first day. Such model students.” She paused, shook her head as if she was shaking away a stray thought, and turned to face Gilbert, extending a hand. “I suppose I should introduce myself. Christine Stewart, BA in European Lit.” 

Gilbert blinked at her forwardness, but shook her hand anyway. “Gilbert Blythe, pre-med.” He frowned, her name echoing in his mind for a moment.  _ Christine Stewart _ … he’d heard about her before, hadn’t he? “You took Advanced Narrative Writing last semester, right? With Professor Hynes?” 

Christine’s too-wide smile returned, and she cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, I did. And how did you know that?” 

“I have a couple of friends who were in that class with you-- Phil Gordon, Anne Shirley-- and your name sounded familiar. Also, I knew your older brother, I believe. Ron Stewart?” She nodded. “He was my RA last year. Mentioned you a few times.” 

“Goodness, that’s a lot of information you have about me, Mr. Blythe. I don’t know whether I should be flattered or worried.” 

Gilbert felt his ears get hot, a tell Bash had teased him endlessly about years before. “Oh, well, I just have a knack for names, I guess.” 

“Still… I feel like I should know more about you now that you already know so much about me.” She looked at him carefully down her long, thin nose. 

Gilbert studied Christine. Her dark hair, almost blue it was so black, was twisted sharply up, and she had long lashes and some of the darkest blue-green eyes he had ever seen. Her cheekbones, jaw, and clavicle were well-defined, and even without her modest heels he estimated she probably would have stood as tall as him, had they been standing. An obviously confident and powerful woman, he wondered for a moment why she’d chosen to sit next to him, a twitchy and anxious pre-med in a worn out sweater vest and second-hand Oxfords. 

_ Curiouser and curiouser _ , Anne would have said.  _ Do you dare dive down the rabbit hole after Alice?  _

“Well, I can tell you I’m an only child,” Gilbert offered carefully, pinkie rubbing the hem of his sleeve absently as he spoke. “I’m from Avonlea on PEI, which you’ve probably never heard of, and I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was fourteen.” 

Christine nodded, her odd smile spreading slowly across her face again. “I think you and I are going to be good friends. Gilbert Blythe. I can feel it.” 


End file.
